


Season's Veil

by Skylark



Category: Ragnarok Online
Genre: Accents, Action/Adventure, Canon Backstory, Character of Faith, Drama, F/M, Family Drama, Family Lineage, Fantasy, Gen, Maturing Writing Style, Norse Mythology - Freeform, One of My Favorites, Religious Themes & References, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-03-22
Updated: 2010-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chain of events draws a group of adventurers into the middle of an ancient war, where the line between good and evil becomes blurred. The mysterious Veil seems to be the Key to their survival; but what is it, and can they save it before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do mention levels in this fic, but since this is supposed to be a “real world,” here's how it works: when a person gets their first job class, they receive (along with their new outfit) an official badge stating their Levels. This badge is bespelled, monitoring each person's ability and rewriting/updating itself accordingly.
> 
> This fic features several characters from religion-based job classes (priests, crusaders, etc.). This means they're religious and that they're not afraid to talk about it, and that they even proselytize on occasion, because, to be honest, that's just a part of their job description. Consider this your first and final warning, and remember that character opinions =/= writer opinions.

The clock tower chimed, a hollow, melancholy, familiar sound as she lay quietly on the floor, feeling exhaustion sift through her bones to settle on the stone tile below her. Idly, she noticed that a sharp, rusted piece of a gear dug into her left arm. She felt empty, weightless, yet curiously content; there were things unfinished, and things desired, but she supposed it was too late for it now.

A tiny part of her mind willed herself to stand, to fight; her blurry vision revealed in quick, curious moments the vague shapes of monsters standing above her. _Abominations,_ her mind hissed— _they must be eradicated!_ But as insistent as the voice was, she couldn't find the energy to push herself up; it was just too hard to try. The bell continued its unceasing toll somewhere far above her as her eyes closed...

 _"Heal!"_

And in a rush she felt the bone-chilling exhaustion scatter as strength filled her. Surging to her feet, her hands scrambled for her blade, picking it up in both hands as she swung it wildly, clearing a space around her. Wild, determined eyes took in the scene; Alarms and Ridewords shifted nervously around her, unsure of how to deal with her sudden revival.

 _"Storm Gust!"_ another voice commanded, and the monsters around her disappeared in a sea of white, icy spikes forming on the granite tile around her. Instinctively she crouched, fighting to retain her balance on the suddenly slippery floor.

"Get back!" she commanded, lunging for the first monster she saw when the blizzard lifted. _"Bash!"_ She screamed over and over as she felt herself flying into a berserker rage, ripping through the monsters around her and leaving tattered papers and shattered splinters of wood in her wake. To her right she saw an Alarm stagger back, bluish lightning arcing across its smoking wooden panels before she turned away.

As she ripped through the final Rideword, she skidded to a stop in a low crouch, chest heaving. Behind her, she heard the muffled, scattered thump of pages, covers, and broken teeth drifting to the floor. She swayed slightly, turning her head just a little to hear a light quick step hurrying towards her, quickly followed by a set of heavier ones. Two pairs of arms grabbed and held her before she could sink to the floor. Opening bleary eyes, she was suddenly flooded with a sense of deep recognition; she jumped with surprise before she could stop herself, almost blacking out from the movement. "You..." She managed in a confused whisper, locking gazes with the— _Priestess,_ her mind supplied automatically, _She bears the cross._

"Didn't she say something?" the priestess said.

"She's exhausted," a deeper voice replied from behind the warrior. "We should get her somewhere safe, away from here."

"Yes, but—why would a Crusader be in the Clock Tower?" The priestess said, biting her lip with worry.

"We can ask her later, but right now we have to—watch!" The Crusader felt herself slipping from their grasp before she was quickly caught again. "She needs better care than we can give her here. Let's go."

A final nod, and the Priestess stepped back, her hands clenched at her sides as she stared off fixedly into space. Suddenly clasping her hands together as if in prayer, her eyes drifted shut. _"Warp Portal!"_ A circle of bluish-white light appeared some distance away from her. "Hurry, before it closes," she urged, rushing back to her companion to help him lift the Crusader. Despite her frail looks, the priestess was surprisingly strong. As they went through the portal, the Crusader's eyes rolled back in her head, letting the welcome blackness finally take her.

\--

"I think we deserve a _few_ answers, at least," she heard a voice she recognized— _the deeper one_ —mutter close by.

"So soon? Even though I used my powers and my potions, she still needs time to heal. We don't want to stress the girl any more than she already—she's awake," The priestess said abruptly, moving towards the invalid to put a cool hand on her forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Not asking too many questions?" her companion asked, the irony lying heavily in his voice. The priestess made an exasperated noise before turning back to the crusader, evidently waiting for a reply.

 _How could she tell I was awake? I hadn't even opened my eyes._ She tried to move, but a lance of pain shot through her head and she let out a faint moan.

"Shh! You're still healing. You got a nasty concussion during your battles, among other things."

The crusader opened her mouth to speak, coughed (and winced as another jolt of pain arced between her temples), and then tried again in a whisper. "Water'd be a welcome sight..."

Gently, she felt herself being raised up on pillows, and tea was brought to her lips. Once her throat was soothed, she asked, "Where...am I?"

"In our tent just outside of Al De Baran," the deeper voice said. "We've set up camp here for a while. My name is Lierne; the priestess is named Archana. You are?"

She opened her eyes, finally, seeing her saviors for the first time. "Belliace Sommerdale," she murmured thoughtlessly. "Thank ye kindly, lord and lady; I would've died had ye not been comin' along right then."

"Are you from Payon?" Archana's sweet voice cut in; looking over, she saw the girl was young for a priest, with plain short brown hair held back by a kitty band and dark hazel eyes. She laughed a little, waving a hand. "Oh, I'm sorry; accents are just a hobby of mine."

"Ye've a sharp ear, Lady," Belliace said, reaching for the tea again; Archana quickly gave it to her with another murmured apology, and after another drink, Belliace continued. "'Twas born and raised to Payon's East, but I'm there no longer, I'fear. And where be ye good people from?"

"I'm from Izlude," Archana said, smiling. "Lierne—" she gestured to her companion, who now Belliace saw was a Wizard, with messy dark brown, almost black hair and serious brown eyes—"Is from Geffen. It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

"N'chanted," the Crusader replied before coughing again.

When the coughing stopped, the wizard asked, "Belliace, why were you in the Clock Tower? Surely you're smart enough to know that place is not for you, especially a low-Level Crusader like yourself." His words were sharp, but his tone held no malice, only solemn curiosity. His eyes took in the shadow that moved over her face and left behind sullen anger, and he spoke again before she could retort. "It seems you do not wish to speak of it. No matter; maybe in time you will come to trust us. For now, rest and recover, Belliace. It was a pleasure meeting you." Standing bowed in the tiny tent, he quickly moved outside.

"Time is what we all have," Archana murmured before she laid her hands over Belliace's, her face crossed with worry as she leaned in close. "Don't mind him," she said, "He doesn't mean to be harsh; he's just very focused on what he wants." She laughed a little, the self-deprecating tone just audible. "We had a few more hours of training ahead of us, but our plans changed when we found you."

"Where's he rushin' off to?"

"It's the first snow of the year—what?" Archana asked, seeing the stunned look on Belliace's face.

"It be the wintry season?"

"Why, of course...didn't you know that?"

Belliace started to shake her head before wincing again. "No, m'lady—I've been in th' Tower for...only th' Lord knows, sing ye his praises. Mayap since summer, I'd warrant."

" _Summer?!_ How did you—I mean—what did you _eat?!"_

"Beggin' food off of travel-bys in trade for tankin' or coin," she muttered. "Well, mostly." Her eyes shifted away from the other girl, looking down, and she tugged half-heartedly at her hand in an attempt to remove it from the Priestess's grip; Archana started and removed her hands, folding them back in her lap.

"Why, Lady Sommerdale?" Archana whispered.

The Crusader let out a barking laugh before wincing again, leaning back against the pillows. "Call me not 'Lady;' nor 'Sommerdale;'" neither I be harkin' to. Belliace, if it pleases ye to call me by anythin'."

"Belliace, then. And please, call me Acha; most call me that anyway. But...you will not tell me why you were in the Tower?"

Belliace's eyes closed. "No," she said with hoarse finality.

She felt the bed shift as Archana got up. "All right, Belliace. Maybe you'll tell us one day."

"‘One day?'" Belliace's eyes flew open again. "What mean ye? We be partin' ways once I heal, and rightly so? Less'n you be wantin' payback for the healin' and care."

"You don't have to leave if you don't want to," the Priestess said with a warm smile. "I enjoy the company, and Lierne does too, although he'll never admit it. Besides, it'll be a while still until you are better; you're not only suffering from a concussion, you know." Lifting a hand, she began to tick her patient's maladies off on her fingers. "A bone-bruised rib, several deep bruises and cuts, as well as weeks of malnutrition and general exhaustion—I'm surprised you were even able to take that last battle. You had—have—no reserves left, Miss Somm—Belliace."

"Berserker rage's made a body do things more uncanny than that," she replied dryly.

Archana's laugh had an undercurrent of nervousness as she shifted, awkwardly smoothing out a bedroll. "I've heard about berserker rage, but never seen it first-hand...until yesterday."

"How long since last I opened m'eyes, then?"

"About...a day or so. Maybe a bit more."

"And that all after yer tending! Heavens above, you saved my life."

The priestess blushed, ducking her head. "It's nothing, really—I would have done the same for anyone else."

\---

Lierne looked grimly out across the snow-covered landscape; usually he would have taken a meditative pleasure in it, but today his mental serenity was disturbed by questions. Slowly, he reached up a hand to gently massage away a headache. _Sommerdale...I swear I've heard that name before. But why?_

You're going to catch your death out here, you know," a familiar voice called out from behind him, making him turn, startled.

"I didn't hear you coming," he muttered.

Archana replied with a gentle smile before she continued. "So how is it?"

"How is what?"

"The snow. Life. Your undying curiosity."

He coughed. "You ask far too general questions."

"You worry about her, don't you," Archana's voice was closer now as she delicately picked her way through the ever-deepening snow.

"I don't worry about _her,_ " he huffed impatiently, crossing his arms. "I worry about _you_."

"Me, Lierne? But she's the one with the—"

"I know her symptoms," he interrupted. "Don't say them all again."

She finally drew even with him, and gently rested a hand on his arm. "Well, then?"

He let out a disgruntled grumble, but aside from that offered no answer, looking out over the snow-covered landscape. "You pry too much."

She chuckled, but agreeably changed the subject. “How's the weather looking?”

He glanced up at the falling snow with a practiced eye. "It'll snow for at least tonight; perhaps all day tomorrow, well into the evening. We should be prepared to stay here for a while...unless you plan on moving The Invalid through all this snow?"

"No, nothing like that.” Archana squinted upwards at the falling snow. “When I left, she was awake, but drowsy. The tea seems to be agreeing with her, and by the time we get back she'll be asleep, I bet. Do we have enough food for all three of us? From the way she looks, she's going to be eating a _lot_."

"Trust a warrior to eat us out of house and home," Lierne muttered; at Archana's muffled "Lierne..." he sighed. "I wasn't serious. I think we have enough. We'll manage."

"We always do," Archana finished softly, resting her head tentatively on his shoulder. Lierne looked down at the young Priestess, and smiled softly in a gentle expression few of his acquaintances would have believed could grace the aloof Wizard's face.

\---

"Have you found any news yet?"

"No, my lord. The elements h-have been silent."

"Well, _look harder,_ then."

"Y-yes, my lord. I will do my best, my lord."

"I didn't ask for your _best_." The powerful Lord Knight gripped the cringing girl's jaw, pulling her upwards as he stared ruthlessly into her terrified eyes. "I asked for results. Get them."

The Sage squeaked before she was released and dropped bonelessly to the floor. "I—I will find it, my lord!"

He nodded with a humorless smile. "You are dismissed." As the girl was picked up by the guards that flanked her and dragged out the large double doors, he got up to pace about the room, clenching a gauntleted fist.

 _The Key's a tricky thing, for certain sure._ "A plague upon mages," he growled. "Useful only when they're up to mischief!"

 _So far it has evaded me...but mage-born though may be, I will have it eventually._ A dark grin spread over his face. _The gods themselves have willed it._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt thank you to [](http://kahashi.livejournal.com/profile)[**kahashi**](http://kahashi.livejournal.com/) and [](http://myqueensknight.livejournal.com/profile)[**myqueensknight**](http://myqueensknight.livejournal.com/) for willingly discussing RO battle strategy with me at two in the morning.

Lierne ducked into the low shelter, hurriedly shutting the tent flap behind him against the icy winds outside. Archana frowned at him from her place next to Belliace. “You're getting snow all over the floor.”

“My apologies,” he replied, before murmuring a quick spell; his clothing steamed slightly as the snow melted, and soon the Wizard was quite dry. “I bought some more food.” It was quite toasty inside the tent due to the modified fire spell in the middle of the room, which glowed brightly. Dumping his shopping bags on the floor next to the Priestess, he shrugged out of his cape with a sigh. “It's not supposed to snow this early,” he said, brow furrowed. “It's only November.”

“Mm,” Archana agreed, “It _is_ strange.” She picked up his cape and draped it on his bedroll in an attempt to lay it flat and avoid wrinkles. “Is it snowing further south, too?”

“I don't know,” Lierne admitted as he unpacked the groceries. “I haven't spoken with my family recently. I can't secure a firm contact.” Archana looked up at this, concerned.

“What? Since when?”

“Since we came to Al De Baran to train. Here.” He offered her an apple from the bag, which she pounced upon with a cry of glee. She bit into the fruit with a look of such unguarded delight that Lierne couldn't help but chuckle. “Last of the season, the farmer said, so I thought of you.”

Archana swallowed quickly and grinned at him. “Thank you!”

“You're welcome,” he said with a rare smile, continuing to pull the food out of the bags. When he was done and everything was put away, only a threadbare core remained of Archana's apple. “It's unhealthy to eat that fast,” Lierne said, raising a laughing eyebrow at the girl.

“An apple a day keeps the healers away—”

“Not if you choke.” Archana stuck her tongue out at this, but he only smirked at her. The Wizard took the apple core from her and tossed it into the fire-spell, where it disintegrated in moments.

When Lierne looked back at the girl, her face was set in an expression of concern. “The farmers...they haven't had enough time to harvest everything, have they?”

“It was a hard autumn,” Lierne replied. “We saw that on the way here. There wasn't much of a harvest to start with.”

Archana sighed, looking deeply into the fire; “How will they get through the winter?”

“It'll be hard,” Lierne said softly. “Very hard.” Seeing a glitter in her eyes that looked suspiciously like tears, he cleared his throat loudly to catch the girl's attention. “How fares The Invalid?”

Broken out of her train of thought, she quickly got control over herself, although she still looked unhappy. "She's all taken care of, for now anyway...all she needs is rest."

Lierne sighed. “As well as can be expected.” The Priestess still looked worried, and the Wizard sighed, extending a long arm to hug her around the shoulders. “You've done all you can. She just needs some time to recover, as you've said.”

“It's not that...” The Priestess hunched her shoulders, looking down at her feet like a scolded child. "She said...she'd been in the Clock Tower since summer."

 _"What?!"_ Lierne whirled to face her, eyes wide with disbelief. "There is—that's impossible! No one, especially not a Crusader of her level, could survive in the Clock Tower for so long! And to think of the level she is now...she must've just started being a Crusader when she entered the place!" He shook his head, eyes narrowed. "She _has_ to be lying."

Archana's head had ducked down further when Lierne started yelling, and her voice shook a little as she answered. "When I told her today was the first snowfall, her surprise was genuine...and she's not only exhausted, but malnourished; she's too thin, underneath all her armor. She said she begged food off of people, or traded her abilities for it."

"People don't bring much in the way of food when they go into dungeons," he replied, but his tone was thoughtful, not criticizing. Lierne suddenly seemed to notice the girl's hunched form, and quickly reached out with one arm to hug her shoulders and pull her closely against his side, letting the movement also settle his long cape around the girl. "Acha, are you all right?"

"I'm...fine...just, erm, you know how I get when people yell." She looked up at him and managed a small, shaky smile.

His eyes softened. "I'm sorry. I was just...surprised."

She made a small sound of acceptance, gazing at Belliace's sleeping form. "It _does_ make you wonder, doesn't it though? Why was she in the Clock Tower...why she couldn't get out."

"And why she didn't just ask for a fly wing or a warp portal, if she couldn't find her way to the exit," he asked dryly.

“...Lierne?” Archana's voice was soft and uncertain.

“Yes?”

“Um...do you think she's...I mean...have you seen her before?”

“Hm?” He turned to look at the Crusader. After a few moments, he shook his head. “No...I can't say I have. Really, the only Swordswoman we ever worked with was Kiran.”

He felt the girl sigh against his side. “I...well, never mind, then. I'm probably just thinking too hard.”

“Acha, what is it?”

There was a long, pregnant pause. Suddenly the fire-spell flared and changed to an eerie green-grey. Lierne tensed, looking at the flame with widening eyes.

“I feel...like I've met her before,” Archana said, dreamily. Lierne jumped when the Priestess spoke, turning to give her a piercing look, but she seemed oblivious. She slowly reached a hand out towards the Crusader, her eyes darkening with some unknown emotion. “No...never met, but...searched...all my life...”

“Archana?” Lierne said sharply, and the girl blinked, her eyes abruptly refocusing. The flame collapsed to its usual small size as if nothing had happened.

“Wha—what? Aah, I'm sorry!” Realizing her hand was suspended in space, she pulled it back suddenly as if burned. “I must have—what was I doing?”

“...You were going to see if she needed more healing, I think,” Lierne replied, his easy tone and expression quickly masking his concern. “But I think she's fine for today.”

“Yes...she just needs rest.” She leaned into his side, snuggling deeply into his shoulder. He sighed and pulled her closer, resting his other hand gently on her hair. After a few minutes of this, Lierne heard her muffled voice: “I wonder what Kiran's doing...”

“I'm sure she's fine. She's a strong girl.”

“Yeah...”

\---

“Kiran! Watch out!”

 _Crack!_

The girl's lance trembled under the force of the strike, which Kiran had managed to block only inches from her face. With a grimace of effort, Kiran Sadhika heaved, pushing Lieb Olmai's paw aside. “ _Do_ something!” she called desperately to her partner.

The Bard nervously strummed a cord and then sang out, “I'm so pretty, oh so pretty, oh so—”

 _“Not Frost Joke!”_ Kiran's Pecopeco leaped back from a Sasquach's attack, screeching as it skidded in the sandy soil. Jolted in her seat, the Knight wasn't able to block Leib Olmai's second attack, screaming as the bear's claws deeply scored her shoulder. As the Bard panicked, Kiran's Pecopeco turned and ran, the girl quickly casting glances over her shoulder to make sure Leib Olmai and the two remaining Sasquach were following her. _“Cyrus!”_

“Um, un— _Unbarring Octave!_ ” The Bard's fingers danced along the strings and suddenly, the area around him was streaked with cris-crossing bars of light. The Sasquach were immediately tangled, roaring in pain before they turned towards Cyrus. He yelled and ran, the spell flickering and dying as the song ended.

“Better!” Kiran turned her Pecopeco around sharply to charge the Sasquatch. Drawing her lance back, she hollered, _“Bowling Bash!”_ and swung it as hard as she could. One Sasquach was knocked into the other with the force of the blow, crushing it underneath its bulk. The last Sasquach flailed its limbs weakly, trying to rise and failing.

This gave Cyrus enough time to run a safe distance away and grab his bow and arrows, hands shaking as he aimed at Leib Olmai. _“Double Strafe!”_

“No, you'll catch its aggression!” Kiran shrieked.

Too late; the bear roared as the arrows struck its flank, whirling about to see where the attack had come from. Cyrus paled as the bear's beady eyes fixed upon him. Lieb Olmai dropped to all fours and barreled towards him with a roar, and the Bard froze in place, his bow falling from nerveless fingers as his eyes widened with terror.

“ _Curse_ it!” Kiran's Pecopeco raced across the battlefield as the Knight hefted her weapon onto her shoulder, eyeing the distance. Cyrus cringed down, covering his head with his hands as the bear loomed over him, rising onto its hind legs to strike.

 _“Spear Boomerang!”_

The lance flew straight and true, lodging itself deeply in-between Lieb Olmai's shoulderblades. It roared in pain as it staggered; the weight of the spear made it topple backwards, and with a final squealing grunt, it twitched, then died. Kiran continued to run towards the Bard, only pulling her Pecopeco to a stop when she reached his side. Kiran quickly dismounted, panting, and went to the older man. “Are you all right?”

Cyrus could only stare in shock at the bear's corpse. The Pecopeco shrilled in warning, and Kiran looked up to realize the other monsters in the area were beginning to lurk dangerously close by, waiting to finish the two of them off.

“Jasmine, guard him.” The Pecopeco bobbed its head in obvious agreement before Kiran ran towards the fallen Leib Olmai. Wrenching her spear free, the Knight quickly looted the corpse—royal jelly, honey, cyfar, and (surprisingly) a gold bar—before menacingly waving her spear at some of monsters that had gotten too close, making them back up. Then Kiran sprinted back towards her Pecopeco and stuffed the treasure into her saddlebags. Bending down, she shook the man; “Cyrus! Can you stand?”

He only stared at her blankly. She shook him harder, but still received no response. Jasmine flapped her wings, screaming threats at a Jing Guai that got too close, and Kiran shook her head, abruptly giving up on reviving the man from his catatonia.

Standing again, Kiran quickly hauled Cyrus upright, slinging him over Jasmine's saddle like a sack of grain. As she mounted, her Pecopeco shrilled—several Jing Guai were rushing them now. Kicking brutally at one that tried to bite her leg, the Knight dug frantically in her pocket; her Pecopeco quickly dispatched another before she found the butterfly wing she'd been searching for. Crushing it in her hand, the three of them vanished, leaving the Jing Guai to mill in confusion.

\---

The Lord Knight knelt low before the makeshift altar. “Greetings, exalted one.”

 ** _Jeffrey Lloyd Meriwether Driscoll,_** a soundless voice echoed through the small, dark room. Green-grey flames curled several inches above the altar's surface, casting eerie shadows upon the Lord Knight's face; suspended within the flames was a man's harsh and handsome face. **_You are well met. What news do you bear?_**

He bowed still further, carefully hiding his expression from sight. He knew it was useless to hide his apprehension, but he tried anyway. “Nothing, highest lord. There has been no trace of the Key.”

 ** _The Fork draws nearer. Time is of the essence._** The man's voice dripped with disapproval. **_You've struck a deal with me, Driscoll. If you are unable to uphold it, I will find someone else._**

“My word is good, Trickster,” the man ground out. “I want it destroyed as much as—”

His words died on his lips as he heard distant shouting behind him. He lifted his head, the altar's light washing over his face to silver his skin and hair.

“I _must_ see him!” A woman screamed, “I don't care what he's doing, this is—”

“No one is allowed in,” a deeper voice said with real threat. There were sounds of a scuffle, then—

“Lord Driscoll!” the woman screamed out. “The Key! I've found the _Key!_ ”

Immediately the Lord Knight rose, casting a glance at the face in the fire. The one called the Trickster merely looked amused; then the flames vanished, leaving the room looking perfectly ordinary. “Let her in,” Lord Driscoll bellowed, and the Sage was thrown into the room. He walked over to where she lay sprawled on the floor and nudged her sharply with a boot. “Well?”

She squeaked in pain, but quickly scrambled to her knees. Closing her eyes, she lifted her hands in the air, mouth moving in a whispered invocation. Immediately the Lord Knight tensed, drawing his blade with a hiss and laying it against her neck. “If you're thinking of trying anything—”

Her eyes flew open to stare at the Lord Knight with fear, but her lips didn't falter. Her hands began sketching runes in the air, and eventually a small, glimmering light appeared between her cupped hands. It curled up into a tiny ball, then slowly spread, brightening and darkening in places to eventually form a fogged map of Rune-Midgard. It swirled before slowly zooming in, pulsing softly as it settled on Al De Baran.

“Al De Baran,” the man breathed, his eyes lighting with a predatory grin. “The Key is there? You're sure?”

The Sage nodded, still whispering the spell that had called the misty Water-elemental to her hands. The Lord Knight glared and pressed his sword harder against her neck, causing drops of sweat to bead on her skin. She paled, her tongue stumbling, and the elemental flashed brilliantly before vanishing.

Lord Driscoll leaned closer, laying a gentle hand on the Sage's cheek. She trembled, but didn't break eye contact. “If you're wrong, I'll feed you to the Chimera.” She made a terrified noise, and shook her head violently.

He gave her a slow smile. “Good girl.” Driscoll straightened, flicking the blood off of his sword before sheathing it. “Efren! Donas!” The guards that had been watching the door entered, bowing low. Hauling the girl up, the Lord Knight flung her at Donas. “Give her something to eat. I'm sure she's tired from all that searching.” The Sage didn't seem to know whether she should be terrified or overjoyed. “Efren. Bring the Shadowed Heart to my chamber.”

“At once, my Lord.” The guards bowed low and left, the Sage stumbling behind them. Lord Driscoll turned and gave the shrine a final glance before also leaving the room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The current cast.](http://yfrog.com/izbasecastp)
> 
> This chapter contains discussions of faith, particularly Christian (or, characters being pumped up about God). Please note that character opinions =/= writer opinions.

“We're not...dead...are we?” came a small voice from just above Kiran's saddle.

Kiran struggled to be cordial. “No.”

Jasmine trotted quickly through the wilderness, jamming her saddle hard into Cyrus's stomach with every step. He could only manage a few breathless words in-between jolts: “I...messed up...right?”

Kiran's foul mood was slightly tempered by guilt as she heard the honest apology in his voice. “It's not your fault, I guess,” she muttered.

“Sorry...” there was a pause. “It hurts...”

With a sigh, she pulled Jasmine to a stop underneath a large, shady tree. The pecopeco sat down and immediately closed her eyes, grateful for the rest. Once the older man got out of the saddle, he collapsed to the ground, rubbing his stomach.

“Where...are we?” he said, blinking at their surroundings.

“Somewhere outside Geffen,” Kiran snapped as she threw her gauntleted hands into the air, flopping onto the ground next to the Bard. “I forgot to register with the Kafra service in Louyang. Last place I saved was right outside Orc Dungeon! We warped into the middle of at least thirty orcs—and with _you_ like a dead weight on my saddle, I couldn't keep my balance or use my lance. Do you have _any_ idea how many stupid orc ladies I had to outrun?”

During her tirade, Cyrus's head dropped further and further until all she could see was the top of his faded mint-green hair. “I'm sorry...” he mumbled again.

Kiran sighed, some of the tension draining out of her. “It's not really your fault. You're new at being a Bard. You did your best.”

“I'm—”

“Sorry. I know.” She reached out instinctively and put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, blinking when he saw that she was giving him a weary smile. “Really, it's okay. We all have to start somewhere.” Kiran turned around and began rummaging through her saddlebags; soon she had two yellow potion bottles in her hands. “Here. Drink up.”

Cyrus gulped his down with obvious relief, but Kiran only took a sip before settling it in her hands, looking thoughtfully at her companion. “When I first started...I used to travel with an Acolyte. Trust me, you are nowhere _near_ as bad.” She chuckled at the memories. “She used to cry every time I got hurt—or if anyone else in the party did, for that matter. She had nightmares for weeks after she saw a zombie for the first time; bats still scare her a little, so I've heard.”

The older man interjected timidly; “Were you with her for a long time?”

“Oh, yes,” she said with a grin. “About two years.”

“That's quite a while!”

“Well, at first it wasn't my choice!" The Knight laughed. "When I was a Swordswoman, I used to attend a Crusader's school.” Cyrus gaped at her, and she smiled. “I'm full of surprises, hmm? But I couldn't choose between becoming a Knight or a Crusader, so they sent me on a journey. Archana's convent—she grew up in a convent, by the way—was affiliated with my school. She was going on a pilgrimage too, and I was ordered to keep her out of trouble...and it was hard, much harder than I expected.

“But we became friends, and eventually I stayed because I wanted to. Finally my academy demanded my decision; I chose Knighthood, so they dismissed me, with their blessings, and Acha and I had to part ways. I left her in the care of another person who used to travel with us often; a Magician...well, he's a Wizard by now. Last I heard, they're still keeping company.”

“She's still an Acolyte?”

Kiran saw that Cyrus's potion bottle was empty, and downed hers in one long gulp before she answered. “Heavens, no! She's a Priestess now, and a good one, too,” she said with pride. “Anyway. Ready to be off?” she asked, standing and extending a hand to her partner. “Geffen's not _too_ far away from here—we can reach it before sundown and rest up for a few days, then start out again.”

The Bard gave a relieved sigh at the mention of civilization. “I haven't written Jennie in a while,” he said. “It'd be nice to write her and the kids, tell them I'm okay...”

She nodded her agreement with a smile. After waking Jasmine up, the pair mounted quickly, Cyrus clambering up behind her, before continuing on towards Geffen.

\---

For days, Belliace slept, sometimes peacefully, sometimes restlessly. Finally, after three weeks, the crusader opened her eyes.

From the way the fire-spell's shadows flickered along the walls of the tent, she knew it was past sundown. The Wizard looked up from his book, eyebrows raised. “Ah, the Invalid awakens,” he commented. “How do you feel?”

“Alert,” she answered after a moment of thought.

Lierne's voice was dry. “So I see.” He raised his head, and after a minute Belliace could also hear the soft clomping of shoes through snow. “There's Acha now.”

When the Priestess ducked inside, her bright eyes and flushed cheeks spoke of a well-spent time outside. “Ah, you're awake!” she said to Belliace with delight.

“Welcome back,” Lierne said, amused by how immediately he was overlooked. He gestured towards a pot over the fire. “I suppose the two of you are hungry?”

 _“Yes!”_ Archana cried out, rushing to the makeshift plates they used. Belliace said nothing, but made her way to the pot with a speed that spoke volumes. Supper was quickly served and the two girls tucked in with great relish, making for a silent, but well-enjoyed meal.

After the meal had been put away, Belliace cleared her throat. Archana and Lierne both turned to look at her, and she flushed slightly. “I...I never gave ye thanks properly,” the Crusader began carefully. “I thought—I'feared I was t'die in that cursed place. Ye saved my life. Ye truly did,” she said in a soft whisper. “Thank you most truly, m'lord and lady. I'm in yer debt.”

There was an awkward silence as the other two stared at her. “It's noth—” Archana finally began, but Lierne interrupted her.

“If it worries you so, there is a way to repay it,” he said. Once he was certain he had Belliace's attention, he continued. “Belliace _Sommerdale._ Of Payon. Correct?”

The Crusader paled slightly, but said nothing. Archana gave Lierne a warning look, but he ignored her.

“I believe we trained with your sister for a time,” he continued. “Atalanta Sommerdale. Correct?”

“Oh, Lannie!” Archana cried out in surprise, caught off-guard. Belliace stared at her, mouth dropping open, and the priestess explained, “We were just in Payon before we came to Al De Baran, you see. Young, isn't she? About thirteen? Bright red hair, green eyes—green eyes just like yours,” she said, her voice changing from excited to wondering in a flash. “Why didn't I see it before?”

Lierne continued, “She comes from a family— _your_ family, rather—of fighters. They own the item shop outside of Payon's northern dungeon. They have for generations.” Lierne locked gazes with Belliace's glare. _“Correct?”_

“Pryin' words're rude as dirt, and pryin' hands unclean,” she growled.

“Miss Sommerdale, you said you've been in the Clock Tower since summer. What were you doing there?”

“ _Don't_ call me Som—”

“And why not?” Lierne interrupted. “What's wrong? It's only a name...why are you afraid of it?”

Belliace drew herself up, expression thunderous. “Ye saved my life, aye, but my affairs're my own—so please kindly keep yer _questions_ to yerself!” Archana pulled back from the Crusader in shock, hurt playing clearly across her features. Belliace was shouting now, oblivious: “Never satisfied, are ye? Magic-types, always—pokin' yer noses into matters of kith and kin—always! Won't even let th' _dead_ take their peac—”

 _“D-don't talk to h-him like that!”_ Archana cried, loudly enough to halt Belliace's tirade. The Crusader stopped abruptly, shocked at the outburst. Archana's face was flushed, her hazel eyes filling with tears. “Th-that's not true! Lierne is a _good_ p-person, and—he just _c-cares_ about you, and—" the Wizard cut her off, circling an arm around her waist and pulling her against his side. His cape trembled as Archana buried herself in it, quickly disappearing from view.

“Rudeness,” Lierne added softly, “Does not become those who walk the holy paths.”

"Don't ye _lecture_ me on how to act, magic man," Belliace growled, wanting to yell but restraining herself out of courtesy to the shaken Priestess. "D'ye follow the gods, as she and I do? Takin' on airs, ye are. Don't talk about things ye aren't knowin'!"

To her surprise, Lierne bowed his head in deference. “I apologize for offending you. I overstepped myself. But Belliace, you can't deny it: we saved your life.” The Crusader's stubborn expression was tempered by guilt. “Don't you believe we deserve _some_ sort of explanation?”

Archana spoke up, her voice muffled beneath the cape. “It took _all_ my powers and half my potion supply to heal you, Miss—Belliace.”

Now Belliace looked as guilty as a scolded child. “I'm sorry for costing ye—”

“That's n-not the point!” Archana said shrilly. She stilled for a moment, then peeked around the edge of the cape. Seeing that Belliace didn't look upset any more, she crept out hesitantly from her hiding place. The Crusader could feel her defensive anger draining out of her as Archana continued, her voice pleading. “You were so hurt, and y-you'd been _being_ hurt for so long. I've never seen someone that badly off. I'm really _worried_ about you! I don't want to j-just leave you without knowing anything, because what if you just get hurt like this again? I c-can't just let you walk back into harm's way!"

Belliace looked at Archana, then bit her lip, her eyes moving upwards to focus somewhere far beyond her. She seemed to be struggling with something inside of herself, her expression clearly conflicted. A long moment passed.

Finally, Belliace heaved a sigh, and bowed her head in defeat. “Aye, Lady-Priestess, I hearken to ye. I'd feel the same in yer shoes.” She swallowed hard, then admitted, “'Twas wrong of me, to lose my temper such. Beg yer pardon, lord and lady.” Her apology was met with silence.

Belliace took a moment to gather her thoughts. “'Sommerdales stand out, and we're proud of it, aye. Warriors from time out of mind, we say; protectin' the village from the gods-cursed northern cave and all that dare threaten Payon, since before the foundin' of th' town.” She sighed. “Ye sure ye be wantin' to hear this? Tis' long, an' no joy in th' tellin'.”

Surprisingly, it was Lierne who broke the silence. He reached out to gently rest a hand on Belliace's shoulder, making the Crusader look at him sharply. “If you're willing to speak...we're willing to listen.” Lierne looked down at the Priestess, and she nodded in agreement, her eyes full of compassion.

Belliace swallowed hard, but began as all storytellers from Payon did: “Gather close, then, and hearken closer; this tale's trail is long and switchback, but there's truth all wound up in 't....”

\---

“Bella, Sir Theopold. Kin, this be Belliace, our eldest,” the young girl heard her mother say somewhere above her head. Remembering her manners, she gave the man a deep curtsy.

Her uncle looked her over carefully; Belliace was tall for her age of thirteen, with deep green eyes and the family's trademark red hair tied back in a low ponytail. Her curtsy was wobbly—it was clear that her movements hadn't yet adjusted for her growth spurt.

“'Nchanted, Belliace,” he said kindly.

She raised her eyes to take him in; a pleasant-looking man, dressed in armor that gleamed proudly in the noonday sun. “And you, sirrah,” the girl replied.

The weight of her father's hand made Belliace stagger slightly when he clapped it on Belliace's shoulder. “Archery's not her way; tried for years, but she's no eye for 't. But with your trainin' she'd make a fine swordlady, aye.”

“Certain sure, brother,” Sir Theopold murmured, turning again to the girl. He was pleased by the way her clear gaze fearlessly met his own. “Work hard, Belliace, and ye'll be a fine swordlady. Are ye willin' to give yer all?”

“I am, sirrah,” she said humbly. “Sommerdales ain't shirkers; we're honest, and true.”

He smiled at her response. “Then we'll have ye registered as a knight-in-training by day's end.” She nodded. “As soon as ye're ready.”

Penelope wrapped the girl in a hug that the girl returned fiercely. “Be good now, y'hear?”

“Do us proud, lass,” her father ordered sternly. “Honest and true, aye.”

“I promise,” she answered both of them, muffled in her mother's shoulder.

Atalanta, four years Belliace's junior, threw her arms around her sister as well. “Visit us! You promise?”

“Aye, I'm just in Payon, Lannie,” Belliace replied, kissing the top of the girl's head. “I'll visit, often as I can spare 't.”

Turning away from her family, she again met her smiling uncle's gaze.

“I'm ready now.”

\---

The first year with her uncle was hard. Belliace was no stranger to hard work, but she had little talent for the sword (although more than she had for the bow) and she often choked on her frustration, especially after watching Sir Theopold's sweeping, easy bladework. But she never gave up. Slowly, she adjusted to her longer limbs, grew used to seeing herself in swordsman's garb, and improved her footwork. “Little by little, day by day,” she muttered to herself in those beginning days.

The second year was no easier. Her swordsmanship improved with increasing speed, but now that she had proven herself truly dedicated to knighthood, Sir Theopold began teaching her all its other aspects: reading and writing, etiquette and the honor code. The country girl had never been fond of book-learning, and Belliace despaired of ever knowing it all. “How d'ye do it so _easy_ -like?” she often cried, and his answer was oft-repeated this year: “Ye can do it, niece. Ye've come this far.”

In the third year, she began to travel with Sir Theopold throughout Payon and the surrounding woodland. They helped those in need and battled monsters, especially (to her father's pride, for he could watch her come and go through the item shop window) the ones in Payon Cave. As her third-year trial, the two of them together killed Moonlight Flower, Belliace's eyes gleaming with exhausted triumph as they stood over the slain body. “Almost ready, Belliace,” Sir Theopold said. “Nes' year, I'll take ye to Prontera, an' we'll make ye a proper knight.”

But in the fourth year, Belliace's training gradually slid to a stop. Sir Theopold's wife took ill and, over a period of several months, wasted away into nothing, leaving the Knight ravaged by the loss. For a few weeks after her aunt's passing, her parents came to comfort Theopold, but eventually they left; they had no time to play nursemaid, and besides, Belliace was there. Her father strictly ordered her to care for her uncle in repayment for all he had done for her so far. So when, after several months, Theopold still slept all the time and aimlessly wandered the house, she had no idea how to help him, but she did know that if she asked for advice or help, she'd be called a shirker who threw her responsibility on other people's shoulders. She struggled along as best she could, taking care of a teacher who said little and did less. Alone, without complaints, she studied her drills and exercises, cooked, and cleaned the house. It was a year marked by a long and heavy silence that often threatened to overwhelm her.

In the fifth year, Theopold began to drink. Belliace hovered uncertainly around the edges of the house, trying to avoid him without seeming rude. After a month of this stalemate, the abuse began. It started small; he would follow her about the house as she worked, insulting her, getting in her way. She took the abuse silently, afraid and not knowing how to react. A few months later, he began to beat her. She used her training to avoid the worst of it, but it still showed in her appearance, and she stopped leaving the house, afraid of what people would say, especially her parents. Sommerdales had vices, like every family, but they were defined by their virtues—no matter what, they got the job done. What would her family say if they knew she had failed so badly?

Eventually, she began to slip away to the nearby woods for sanctuary; never too far from Payon, of course, but far enough. She'd stay there for hours, thinking, training as much as her injured body could manage—but she knew she was losing the skills she had worked so hard for. He was often there when she returned. She took to crying herself to sleep at night, trapped in a net of loneliness and fear.

Then, one morning—

\---

Belliace, now eighteen, awoke from an uneasy sleep. Pre-dawn light lit her tiny room, and faintly from downstairs she heard a familiar stumbling gait and surly, swearing voice—her uncle was home from another long night of drinking. Her eyes were wide as she held her breath, hoping that today she would be lucky, that today he would simply fall into his bed and sleep.

There was a scuffling sound and the clatter of a falling chair, then silence—then a roar. She bolted upright, struggling to free herself from her bedsheets, but she wasn't fast enough. Her door slammed open, her disheveled uncle glaring at her as she stumbled to her feet. With a long step he crossed to her, yanked her up by her shirt front, and flung her out into the hallway. She hit the wall with a harsh cry and breathlessly crumpled to the floor. Then she heard a long, metallic hiss—and to her horror, saw her uncle drawing her sword from where it rested by the foot of her bed, his eyes filled with madness.

She was choked by a surge of wild fear. She didn't remember scrambling to her feet, but suddenly she was racing down the stairs, her uncle's incoherent bellowing and thunderous footsteps close behind her and gaining. She hit the bottom floor and sprinted for the kitchen door, only to go flying as she tripped over the overturned chair, splinters jamming into her skin as she skidded on the floorboards. Behind her, Belliace heard the chair give a crackling shriek as her Uncle's sword ripped it in two, and she screamed in terror, stumbling back into a run. Some instinct told her to dodge to the right, just saving her from another wild sword-swing. As he overbalanced, she shot past the kitchen table and made it out the door, slamming it behind her to give her another few moments. Without hesitation she ran for the forest, the only place in the world she thought of as safe.

She heard him burst through the door just as she hit the tree-line. She ran as she never had before, gasping for air, her bare feet and limbs soon shredded and bloody. The sounds of his pursuit became fainter, but panic kept her running, long after the final sounds had finally died away. She ran and ran until she tripped again, over a tree root this time, and gracelessly fell on her face.

For a moment she lay still, her face pressed into the leaf-strewn floor as she gasped desperately for air—then stiffened as she heard a rustle behind her.

Belliace's breath froze in her throat. Muscles tense, she slowly forced herself to turn around, knowing that—somehow—Sir Theopold had managed to follow her all this way. As she turned, she heard a long, drawn-out screech, like a unoiled door opening. Trembling, she finally looked behind her—

Her jaw dropped in shock. Not her uncle, but seven elder willows stood behind her, their eyes fixed upon her with malice. Suddenly, she realized that she hadn't tripped over just _any_ tree.

A split second later she also realized that she was alone in a dangerous forest, at night, unarmed, wearing no armor, injured, and completely exhausted. _After all that,_ Elders _are going to kill me,_ she realized, flabbergasted. “No,” she whispered, scooting backwards as they slowly advanced. “No, no, this can't...No!” her voice spiraled upwards into a desperate shriek; “Help! Please, someone, _help me!”_

Suddenly, what looked like a small firework lit the air above one of the Elder Willows; it abruptly halted in its tracks, confused, as she continued to back up. Another firework appeared over another, and another, each one stopping or even turning away completely as Belliace managed to get to her feet and limp as fast as she could away from them. Looking over her shoulder, she suddenly realized that they were all, for a moment, distracted.

She leaped aside in fright as a blue-white portal appeared next to her. “Get in!” an unfamiliar voice called out. At her moment of hesitation, it cried, “Before they see you again! _Please_ trust me!”

Realizing that she had no other choice, Belliace shuddered, made a quick sign against evil, and leaped through. Seconds later someone collided into her from behind, causing her to stumble forwards. “Oh! I'm very sorry, are you all right?” The same voice continued from behind her. She turned, seeing a priestess with a long purple braid and worried blue eyes. “What were you—” the older woman stopped as Belliace's expression crumpled, tears beginning to fall. “Oh, oh dear—”

Without another word, she opened her arms as the younger girl fell into them. Belliace burst into violent sobs as the priestess gently stroked her hair. “Shh, shh, you're safe now,” she whispered soothingly, “Nothing will hurt you, not in this holy place.”

\---

Belliace's voice abruptly cracked. Lierne and Archana looked up, startled out of the spell of the tale. With a soft apology, Archana quickly fetched the Crusader some water.

“Status Recovery,” Lierne said.

“Mm?” Belliace said around a mouthful of water.

“You're right,” Archana agreed, “The priestess used Status Recovery on those Elder Willows, didn't she?”

“Prob'ly,” Belliace replied. “Never thought about 't.”

She put the water down, and stared at her audience for a moment. “Well?” Lierne prompted.

Belliace sighed. “Her name was Anjali,” she said. “God bless her. Warped me to Prontera Church, aye. And—she _stayed_ with me, listened to me cry. Showed me th' way of God, told me that my suffering weren't in vain—that God would help me, if I let 'im in my heart. Gave me her rosary, and I was a faithful follower of God from then on. I swore to be a Crusader and spread His good word. That afternoon, I took my 'Sader vows.”

“Quite a change, wasn't it?” Lierne replied.

“Aye, sirrah, you've no thought how right ye are,” she said, old bitterness in her voice. “Sommerdales're always fighters. Warriors, straight and true. Witchcraft be dangerous poison, the root o' all tha's wrong with this world. And gods're right danger too; full 'o magicks themselves, as poisoned as all the rest. Aye, th' only right way's with a weapon in yer hand, fightin' with your own strength. All else leads ye straight to evil, certain sure.”

“B-but—that's not true at all!” Archana burst out, horrified.

“Aye, it's all lies,” Belliace replied, her voice heated. “But still, 's what they believe—an' how I was raised. Never trust priests, nor mages neither. They'll only use ye, then destroy ye. Don't matter that Anjali saved me in th' Lord's good name,” she growled, “Nor that they took me in their ranks, knowin' I was Sommerdale, knowin' what my family thought.”

“So...what did you _do?”_ The priestess asked.

“Crusader or no, I was Sommerdale, through and through,” she replied stubbornly. “Sommerdales don't run. Honest and true, aye, 'til the day we die.”

Lierne's expression was somber. “So you went back.”

She nodded. “A week later, I went back. Uncle didn't know what t' do, so he told my family I 'ad run off. An' well, it was true, kinda.”

“Technically,” Lierne grumbled. “Your family didn't notice a change in him at all?”

“I don't know,” she said. “'Sides, when I came home, in full 'sader gear, Anjali's rosary 'round my neck—” she smiled crookedly. “They had other things to hearken to. The Lord's path didn't sit none to well with the Sommerdales, no sir...”

\---

"But...why?" Atalanta sobbed, clutching to the front of Belliace's shirt. "Why're ye doin' this? Why?"

"We've no place for hocus-pocus here," Markham said stiffly, his eyes hard and unforgiving. "Ye've not been raised such. Atalanta!" he barked, shocking the girl; her full name was only used when she was in trouble. "Stop yer bawlin'! A fighter you be, not some flibbertigibbet." He turned his glare back to Belliace. "Unlike some people, I'fear."

Atalanta abruptly stopped her crying with an awkward hiccup. Into the sudden silence, Belliace replied hotly, "I'm still a warrior. I'm no—"

Her father slammed his hands down on the table, "No fighter be needin' flash and dazzle to be savin' her ass whenever she's in a pinch!" he roared. "Turnin' to witchcraft, losin' your moral fiber—"

"Yer slanderin' me," Belliace growled. "I'm still a fighter, just—" Markham drowned her out with more accusations; she was an evil sorceress, a traitor, she'd sold her soul to evil spirits. Belliace blew out an irritated sigh, ignoring him.

She looked down at Atalanta, who still clutched the front of her shirt, tears streaming down her face. _Don't do this,_ her eyes begged. Belliace sighed, ruffling the girl's red hair.

Markham stopped, having run out of things to say. Penelope picked up where her husband left off, her green eyes mournful. "Why'd ye choose that road, child?" she asked. "Where'd I go wrong?"

"It's not yer fa—"  
"DON'T INTERRUPT!" Markham bellowed, and Belliace gave up.

"What's wrong with _our_ path?" her mother continued. "Why can't ye be a Knight, 'stead? Why, ye were doing so well with Sir Theopold, aye! And lookit Lannie—fourteen winters only an' the best marksman in her year! Why a _caster,_ lovey?"

"Mother," Belliace began, "I'm not a caster, I'm a _'sader—_ "

"A caster," Penelope insisted, "Muckin' about with holiness—that's Gods' territory!—"

"Harken to me!" Belliace said, finally having enough, "I'm fighting for _good,_ not witchery, nor lies, nor _magic! Why_ can't ye just accept it? 'M still a fighter, I'm just fighting for—"

"For _what?"_ her father growled, knocking his chair over as he rose to his feet. "For _God?"_

\---

Belliace's eyes were hard as she stared into the fire-spell. “In a right fury I left that house. I dyed my hair, blue to match God's heaven; I didn't want th' Sommerdale's red hair if they didn't want me! To the lowest hells with them and their—shor'-sighted, _stupid_ —”

Lierne's gentle cough interrupted her before she could launch into a real tirade. She shifted, refocusing. “So you were cast out of your family?” He urged gently, which was all the encouragement she needed to continue on.

The Crusader hesitated. “Well...not 'xactly,” she said, making both Lierne and Archana look at her with surprise. “I kept house with a few friends in Payon's south for a few days, just while I made heads and tails of everythin'. Then I got a letter from my family. Said they wanted to have another talk with me, civil-like, no yellin' or screamin'.”

“Did you go?” Archana asked.

Belliace shrugged. “Holy Writ says to give second chances and forgive those who wrong ye; o'course I went. Wary, but I went. They didn't beg pardon, and I didn't neither. Said they wanted to give me a chance, an honest chance. Wanted t'see how I made out as a 'sader afore they went passin' final judgment. Said they wanted me to train awhile, then see if I still liked it.”

Lierne looked thoughtful. “I suppose that's fair.”

“Better than nothing,” Archana agreed.

“They even found someone t' train with,” she continued. “A Wizard; Ravi, 'twas named. They said he had magic, so he could understan' me best. Ravi told me we were goin' to the Clock Tower; not knowin' anythin' of the great wide world, I gave my thanks to 'im, and off we went.”

“Wait,” Lierne said, brow furrowed. “You hadn't trained at all after you became a Crusader, did you?”

“Not a'tall; Job Level was one, Level was—oh, in th' high thirties, I warrant.”

“And Ravi—what level was he?”

“Dunno,” she shrugged. “Never asked.”

“Well, no matter—but he expected a newly-made Crusader to take blows for him while he cast his spells? In the _Clock Tower?_ Did you have a healer?”

\---

“Jus' us, eh?” Belliace asked, slightly cowed by the huge structure that loomed over them. They'd arrived quickly by Kafra warps, leaving the girl slightly breathless.

He gave her a gentle smile. “You can heal, can't you?”

“No, sirrah,” she replied cautiously. He chuckled, ruffling her hair.

“Well, no worries. You serve God, so you'll pick it up as we go. Until then, I've got potions to tide us over, all right?” Seeing her hesitation, he looked mildly concerned. “Are you sure about this? We can start in Payon Cave if this is too hard—kill some skeletons, get your Job Level up—”

She flushed, shamed by this suggestion, as if she were a novice. “I can do it,” she said stubbornly.

Ravi laughed. “Your father was right about you. You've got guts, girl. Well then, shall we?”

From the moment they stepped through the large doors, they were attacked. Without a moment's warning a large flying book leaped for her throat; only her fast reflexes saved her, getting her shield up just in time, but the impact still knocked her flat on her rear with a shout of surprise. Awkwardly she rolled, trying to free her sword hand. It reared back to strike again, but she unsheathed her sword and slashed it wildly across the mouth before it could get a bite in. Desperately, she wondered where Ravi was as she swung her sword awkwardly about. She managed to shoo it away just as Ravi's fire bolt spell struck it repeatedly. It spun to face its new attacker, mouth agape.

“Keep its aggression,” Ravi warned, “It'll make mincemeat of me!”

Belliace lunged forwards, scoring a deep gash in the Rideword's hide. It bit deeply into her arm, making her shriek in pain—she'd never been hurt so badly by a single attack before. “Come on, Belliace!” Ravi urged, another spell-circle flaring to life underneath him, “You can do this!”

Belliace was never sure afterwards how, exactly, they survived. She barely remembered hacking at it and hiding behind her shield, being bit again and again, her vision fading despite her best efforts to gulp potions down; finally, when she was about to faint altogether, it was struck down by a last fire bolt.

She swore she saw an angel appear triumphantly over her head as she collapsed, barely catching herself on one knee. Suddenly feeling refreshed, she stood with a look of surprise. Ravi moved to stand next to her. “Excellent work,” he said with pride. “Take a look at your Level Card, hmm?”

Pulling it out obediently, she stared at it. Her Levels had increased. Ravi met her delighted smile with one of his own. “Great feeling, right?”

After that, however—it could only be described as nightmarish.

As they made their way higher up the Clock Tower, they encountered monsters on all sides. Every time, they made it through with the barest luck—and often times that luck was in the form of other adventurers who had to save them, taking their Experience points and loot as their payment. The disappointed look Ravi would give her after those sorts of encounters filled Belliace with shame, and only made her more determined to beat this place and prove herself. _Aye, aye, I'll make it,_ she thought, ragged with exhaustion, _I c'n do this._

She struggled onwards, desperately trying to keep the monsters' attentions solely on her as Ravi slowly cast his spells. She could handle one monster, but any more and she was doomed. She _did_ learn how to heal eventually, but she tired of these new magics too quickly, and eventually all their potions were used up also. No matter how hard Belliace struggled, they weren't making any headway, but whenever Ravi asked if she wanted to quit, she always shook her head. “Sommerdales don' quit,” she rasped, and the Wizard smiled, pleased by her bravery.

More than once she had to be Resurrected by a passing Priest after fainting clean away, which drained all of her zeny along with her energy. They eventually resorted to leaping from floor to floor to escape monsters until Belliace was completely lost.

It was after going through another of these portals that Ravi called for a brief halt, seeing that the coast was clear. Belliace dropped to one knee, breathing hard, her vision gray around the edges and her ears tinged scarlet with frustration. Her hands shook, barely able to keep a grasp on her blade. It took her a minute to realize that Ravi was talking.

“...done enough,” she heard. “Before that, though, your family asked me to deliver a little parting gift.” Her head snapped up, eyes wide, to see a small smile on his face.

Before she could react, he had pulled a handful of something out of his left sleeve, and threw it on her. It was a fine ruby-colored dust that filled her throat and lungs, completely choking her. She clutched her throat, mouth gaping, and as she collapsed, he threw more and more on her until she was covered in it, shouting a harsh, foreign incantation in a thunderous voice that made her ears ring. She looked on in horror as the crimson dust began to literally dissolve into her body; it felt like a million needles were piercing her as each grain of sand pushed into her skin. She tried to scream, but there was no air to scream with. As she blacked out, the last thing she saw were Ravi's smiling eyes.

Belliace didn't know how much time passed, but she awoke all at once and with a scream, clawing at her skin. To her shock, she saw that her body was clean and unmarked, the red sand completely gone. She was still exhausted, however, her throat and lungs burned—and Ravi had disappeared. Her heart pounded painfully as she backed into a corner, clutching her sword in hands that still shook. She tried to remember the way back, but they'd been in there for _hours,_ and she could barely tell up from down anymore.

Finally gathering her nerve, she did the only thing she could think of—walking through the portal they'd come through. She found herself in an unfamiliar room, face-to-face with a Clock. Before it could attack, she was already sprinting away, screaming for help; shortly after she stumbled upon a hapless party of adventurers with the Clock and two Ridewords hot on her heels. They saved her life, and before they could start to scold her, she did what she had never done before: she put her pride aside and shamelessly begged them for help. Taking pity on the obviously terrified girl, they gave her a butterfly wing.

Belliace crumpled the wing in her hand. It flashed, then disappeared. To her shock, she remained.

“Why, I've never seen anything like that before,” the Alchemist said, puzzled. “Here, take another.”

Another Butterfly Wing was quickly wasted. The party stood around her, baffled.

“We don't have any more to spare,” the Knight said apologetically, “But why don't you stay with us for a while? We'll help you get to the exit.”

As she traveled down the tower with them, she talked with the party's Sage. After she explained what had happened, she said that Ravi had probably cast an ancient and highly costly spell called “Jagra's Desert,” which trapped its victim in whatever area it was in. It was usually used on MVPs, she explained—that's why most of them stayed in their respective locations. Then, she shot Belliace a look.

“I'm not possessed,” the girl retorted hotly.

The Alchemist chuckled. “Lookit the poor kitten, weak as water. You think an MVP would be running scared from Clocks and Ridewords?”

“I don't understand why he'd be using it on you, then,” the Sage said thoughtfully. Belliace closed her eyes, fighting back tears; she knew why, but she _couldn't_  think about it, not right now. “Besides, if he were caught using it on a normal person, the Wizard's guild would have his hide.”

“Maybe he didn't expect to be caught,” the party's Rogue added darkly. “Maybe he didn't expect the girl to live, eh?” Awkward silence met this observation.

They took her to the exit, as they promised, but—as they had all expected—she couldn't pass through the doors. They held the doors open for her, but as she reached out, it felt as if a glass wall stood in the doorway. She shook her head; there was nothing more they could do. “Thank ye kindly, for everything,” she said wearily. “I'll never forget ye.”

They gave her all the supplies they could afford—some meat, potions, and spare fly wings—then left her, as they had to.

\---

Belliace stumbled to a halt. Lierne had started forwards at the description of the spell—evidently, he had recognized it also—and Archana was quivering with fury.

“But—your own—f-family—your own _parents!_ ”Archana cried out. “They—they were trying to _kill_ you!” Belliace had no response; she could only bow her head, trembling slightly. “Oh—I'm—erm. Sorry,” Archana said awkwardly, “I didn't mean to—I'm sorry.”

“And what happened after?” Lierne asked, his voice as gentle as she had ever heard it.

The Crusader was silent for a time, her expression hidden by her bangs. “I...I fought in there, never-endin'. I managed. Travel-bys would let me stay with 'em for a while, but eventually they left—o'course. Some got used to seein' me in there; used to bring me food, just t' live on. I was lost, well and truly; had no sense of time, an' never knew where I was in there.

“Once a father-Priest tried to warp portal me out—didn't work neither. I stood there on that portal and jus'...I jus' started cryin'.” Belliace's voice cracked, bringing her to a sudden halt; she bit her lip hard and clenched her hands tightly to try and stop them from shaking. Slowly, Archana reached out and lay one of her hands on Belliace's; she looked up, but had to look away quickly when she saw the deep sympathy in the other girl's eyes. After another moment of silence, she took a deep breath and continued, her voice shaking but emotionless.

“Got stronger; had to. A few helped me up my levels, and I started bein' able to take things down on my own. But I was tired, in my very bones. I was...givin' in,” she admitted. “You saved me.” She scrubbed hard at her eyes for a second, then looked up at Lierne and Archana.

“Lady-Priestess, I don't ken how ye got me out—but ye did. Ye broke my curse. God sent you t' me, I _know_ it. I owe you my life, well and truly. Anythin' I can do for you—just say the word. I'll be your champion, I'll defend you through good and ill. I swear it upon my God and my honor.” She bowed her head to Archana in deference, her right hand on her heart.

The Priestess's eyes brimmed with tears. “They—how _could_ they?” Belliace had no response, but could only shake her head.

“I...think I understand,” Lierne said softly, causing both girls to look at him. He spoke to Belliace. “To your family, you were shaming them. You had gone over to...evil. They might have even been trying to save you. Perhaps they felt that even death was a better alternative.”

“But to try and—like _that?!_ ” Archana interjected

“It was a message,” he responded, eyes sad. “I have no idea how you family knew about that spell—perhaps this 'Ravi' was the one who suggested it—but they found a mage with no honor, proving to them—and you—that magic only leads to villainy; and...I don't think they wanted to murder you outright, or they would've killed you themselves. In their hearts, you were still kin—and I don't think they could do that. The Sommerdales—I know them. They've essentially declared war on the Assassins' guild. So if they wanted to—kill someone—they'd have to do it some way like this. But...I'm _sure_ they expected you to die quickly to the monsters in the Clock Tower—I don't believe they were trying to torture you. I doubt anyone expected you to last out the _hour,_ much less the day. Your own strength and will saved you.”

“Nay, sir. Th' Lady-Priestess saved me,” she said simply. “Th' Holy Father saved me, hallelujah forever.” Belliace made no further response, and the silence stretched. Lierne finally reached out, grasping the Crusader's right hand and pulling it towards him, gently. Belliace looked up, her eyes red—though no tears fell.

“I'm sorry,” he said simply. “You are always welcome with Archana and I, and my family will welcome you also, wherever you go. And—we'll find the Wizard Ravi. There's no Wizard in this world that can hide from my kin,” he said, voice tight with carefully controlled anger.

Her eyes flashed with fury of her own. “That'd be a sight,” Belliace growled. However, hard on the heels of her anger was a sudden bout of wooziness, and she swayed. Lierne reached out to steady her, looking worried.

Archana quickly swiped away her tears, and the two of them helped Belliace back to her bedroll. “I forgot...you're not yet well,” the Priestess said, her voice still wavery. “I'm sorry.”

Belliace's eyes drifted closed, one hand held by Archana, the other by Lierne. The two stood a silent vigil until she was truly and deeply asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May bells are also known as Lilies of the Valley—more on them [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lily_of_the_Valley). "Greensleeves" is now more commonly known as the melody of "What Child is This;" listen [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lmOb5H8kL30). "My Lagan Love" sounds like [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BYT5NKAIYI8).
> 
> Warning for character death.

_Dear Jennie,_

 _You'll never believe where I am now..._

Cyrus chuckled at this, oblivious to the curious look Kiran gave him; his wife's last letter had scolded him for always beginning his letters this way. _I'm near Geffen, in a place called Glast Heim. They say it used to be a powerful city, like Yuno, before monsters destroyed it. It's huge, and dark, and a wee bit scary..._

The letter in his head trailed off as he peered upwards, trying to figure out where the high ceiling ended and the gloom began. He shivered a little. Glast Heim had a clammy coldness, and the weak torches on the walls only made the shadows darker. _The world's so big and grand, and everywhere I look, there's something amazing. But I'm I'm glad you didn't come with me,_ he continued, _this isn't a place for a sunny little girl like you._

 _So we're grandparents now, eh? Give a kiss to Lidda and her new baby boy for me. Tommy's a good name—Grandda would be so proud. How are the boys doing?_

 _I'll send some presents along for everyone when we leave this place. I think you'll like what I'm getting you; it's almost as pretty as you are, bunny._ Kiran didn't much like souvenir shopping, but she put up with it when he asked, smiling at the serious thought Cyrus put into each purchase. The last store they had visited was a dusty old magic shop, where the Bard had seen a spun-glass spray of tiny, bell-like white flowers with gilded edges. It had been too costly then, but after this dungeon run, he knew he'd have enough money to buy it for his wife.

\- - -

Cyrus first met Jennie when he was sixteen and she was moving into the house next door, eighteen and alone. When he saw the sun glint off of her chestnut hair, his heart began to pound. He sprinted outside and offered to help her move her small pile of belongings; “No need,” she replied curtly before walking inside.

“Pretty girl,” his mother said to Cyrus after dinner. “She by herself?” He nodded wordlessly, still trying to organize his thoughts. “Here,” his mother said then, pushing the pot of food across the table to him, a knowing look in her eye. “Take this over. Young girl like her needs to eat.”

He rushed next door with this peace offering in hand. He knocked on the door timidly, and when it swung open, he met her stare with a shaky smile. “Hello, um, good evening,” he stammered, “I'm Cyrus, I met you earlier...” then he remembered what he was there for, and held out the food. “Here, this is from—my mother, we thought you'd like something...to eat...?” The girl looked nonplussed, and he kicked himself for not practicing his lines first.

“It's all right,” she said.

“My mother's an excellent cook,” he pressed. “Please, take it.”

She looked at him for a moment more, Cyrus trying not to blink. Her eyes were dark blue, like twilight. Then, she took the pot, murmuring a “Thank you” as she closed the door.

He practically danced up to his room, feeling giddy, barely able to sleep. It wasn't until the next day that he realized he didn't even know her name.

It became a daily ritual for the two of them: Cyrus brought dinner to her house promptly at seven, and she left the washed cookware on his doorstep the next morning. The girl never said much, and eventually Cyrus stopped trying to make conversation, settling for trying not to smile at her like an idiot as he watched her hands take the tray from him. Finally, he gathered the courage to ask her name. _Jennie,_ she said, and it ran through his head for the rest of the night like music.

“He has it bad, don't he?” his mother commented once, watching him hurry out the door with her dinner in hand.

“As bad as I had it for a certain young girl at his age,” his father replied. She blushed, looking at her husband with affection.

\- - -

“I saw Jennie at the restaurant yesterday,” his sister said over breakfast a month later, and Cyrus tried not to jump at the sound of her name. “She's a serving wench there, just started.”

“Really? It can get kind of rough there sometimes,” his mother said, putting a plate of eggs down on the table. “I hope she'll be all right.”

The next morning, Jennie opened her door and found Cyrus standing there, waiting. She blinked, and then gave him a little glare, which he returned with a querulous smile. “Yes?”

“I-I was wondering if I could walk you to work.” He'd practiced this time, but it still came out half-questioning.

“No need,” she said, striding past him. He followed her, nervous but determined.

“I thought you might appreciate the company. It's no bother for me at all, I work near you anyway, I thought maybe—”

She whirled to face him, and Cyrus just barely managed to stop before he ran into her. He forgot how to breathe as they stared at each other, their faces just inches apart. She was tall, for a woman; he'd never realized that they were the same height before.

“Do as you please,” she finally muttered, turning away. Cyrus's face lit up with a smile as he trotted up to walk next to her, wanting to hum with joy, but not daring to; he didn't want to annoy her.

\- - -

“Oy, Jennie! Yer _boyfriend's_ here!” One of the barmaids screeched through the back door of the restaurant, and Cyrus bit his lip as the other girls hooted and catcalled. He'd tried to clean up some before he came back to pick her up after work, but his hair wouldn't lie flat and his clothing was still sort of sweaty. He shielded his eyes against the evening sun, trying not to fidget.

Jennie came out ten minutes later, by which time the other girls had gotten tired of heckling him and gone back inside. He expected her to say something, but she simply gave a cursory glance in his direction before heading home.

Cyrus had been gathering his courage all day, and halfway to her house he used it all in one quick rush: “What's your favorite flower?”

She looked at him, eyebrows slightly raised. “Why do you want to know?”

“Um...just curious?” She frowned at that. “I'm sorry? You don't have to tell me if you don't feel like it, I didn't mean to offend you or—” She had already stopped listening, and he hung his head, feeling like an fool. When they got to her house, she went inside without looking back.

By the next morning Cyrus had found enough bravery to stand outside her door again, determined to be more quiet this time. She came outside and shut the door before turning to face him; he held up a hand in greeting, trying not to look too hopeful, and her lips quirked slightly before she walked by him, the boy stifling a smile as he matched her pace.

They were silent for the next few days, Cyrus happily admiring the way the world looked brighter as Jennie passed through it. After a week, the girl stopped on her porch.

“May bells,” she said.

Cyrus blinked; “What?”

“My favorite flower. May bells.” She vanished inside.

Cyrus was stunned for a moment, his mouth hanging open. Then a grin broke out across his face. _“Yes!”_ He did a little jig as he went home, cheering and singing, not knowing that Jennie was leaning on her closed door, smiling slightly as she listened.

\- - -

“Wait,” Cyrus said a few days later, and Jennie stopped on her doorstep, looking at him as if he'd interrupted. “I, um, I was working and I happened to find these.” He held out a tiny bouquet. It was a lie; may bells were almost out of season, and he had searched for three days until he saw some blooming on a high cliff face. He'd nearly broken his neck gathering these few precious flowers, and had been hard-pressed to explain to his boss why he was a half-hour late from his noon break.

Jennie stared at his gift, then up at his smiling face, then down again. Reaching out, she lifted the blossoms from his hands, the brush of her fingertips making him feel hot, then cold. The girl blew a puff of air, making the may bells wave gently. “Working, huh,” she said. “What do you do, anyway?”

He was so shocked for a moment that he didn't answer, but when she started to look impatient, words tumbled from his mouth. “Oh! Um, I'm a—well, I do all sorts of things, I help out at the juice shop, I chop wood, I help the hunters set traps...” He trailed off, but she was still looking at him with somber interest. “Actually...I want to be a Bard some day,” he said, and then looked at her nervously. He'd never told anyone that before.

“A Bard. Really?” she said, her eyes brightening a little.

“Yeah,” he said. “Have you ever heard of Aleric the Great?” She shook her head. “He's fantastic, he's performed all over the world. He came to Payon once to play for the Emperor. I was working at the inn back then, and I was lighting the fire in his room, humming, when he came back early. I was so shocked! I apologized and I was ready to run out the door, but then he said, 'No, stay a minute.' He asked me to sing him something.” She was looking down at the flowers, and Cyrus stopped.

To his surprise, she looked up. “So? Did you?”

“Yeah...I did. I sang _Greensleeves,_ but I was so nervous, my voice was shaking something awful. He thought it was good, though...well, actually, he said it wasn't terrible...anyway, then he goes, 'Have you ever thought about becoming a Bard?' And I said 'Yes,' and he said 'Keep at it.'” Cyrus's eyes were shining, but Jennie's expression didn't quite echo his excitement.

“That's all he said? 'Keep at it?'”

“ _Aleric_ the _Great_ said 'Keep at it!' That's—it was the best moment of my life!” Cyrus protested, and she smiled a little.

“Do you still sing?” Jennie asked, the smile fading, and his brain started up again.

“Y-yeah...all the time, really.”

“You'll have to show me sometime,” she said, and that smile was there again, just faintly. When he didn't answer, her mouth quirked into a frown, and his eyes darted up from her lips. “Sorry, what?”

“I said, you should sing for me sometime. I'd like to hear it.”

“You...you would?” She nodded, and Cyrus just stared; he would have been happy just to walk by her side each morning and evening for the rest of his life. “Oh, you...you...” Jennie gave a little sigh. “Um...” But she was already walking to her door. His shoulders slumped a little.

“I don't have work this Friday,” she said, and he looked up again. She was standing with one hand on her open door; a dark hallway stretched out behind her. “Are you free?”

He had no idea why she was so patient: it must have taken thirty seconds or more before his voice worked again. “Yes, yes of course I am, definitely—”

“Good,” she cut him off gently. “Maybe you can show me around Payon. I really haven't seen much of it.”

He was sure he was dreaming.

“Good night, Cyrus,” she said, smiling faintly at his poleaxed expression. “See you tomorrow. And...thank you for the flowers.” Her door closed, and Cyrus was pretty sure he had a new best moment of his life.

That Friday, he took her out on their first date. A year later, they were married, with lilies of the valley in Jennie's bouquet.

\- - -

So that's why he was here specifically, Cyrus told himself, in this dark and scary place; not just so that he could see the world, but so he could buy her that little sprig of may bells, something to make her smile through the cold, flowerless winters. He looked over at Kiran, wondering if he should share this story with her, only to find her in the middle of a rather heated argument.

“You didn't tell us he was only job level twelve,” the Priest was saying with a glare.

“He's base level 72,” Kiran retorted. “He's not useless.”

“We wanted a Bard, not an Archer!”

“I'll keep him safe. Why are you complaining? You've got a Super Novice in the party, for goodness sake!”

A blue-eyed young man turned towards her at this. “I'll have you know, Madam, that I am not just any Super Novice! I am Zephil Mardain the fourth, eldest child of the most powerful and noble Mardain family!” He struck a heroic pose. “Traveling from Prontera to the ends of the earth, I spread goodwill to all, defending the weak and helping the poor—”

“He gave us lots of money,” the Assassin interrupted, giving Kiran a wink.

“Ah.”

“The _audacity!_ ” Zephil cried.

“Are you really a noble?” Cyrus asked him, his eyes round.

Zephil gave a deep laugh, tossing his long white ponytail haughtily over his shoulder. “Why yes, of course! Certainly you have heard of the Mardains, good sir?”

“No, never.”

“What! And you call yourself a Bard? What a travesty! Come here, and I will tell you of my family's great and daring exploits throughout Prontera's history...”

Kiran snorted as Zephil took the willing Bard aside. “How old is he, eighteen?”

“How old is your Archer, fifty?” retorted the Wizard, crossing her arms.

“Forty-five,” the Knight corrected with a sigh. “Cyrus won't be a bother, don't worry. He's not as bad as you think.”

“I'll believe that when I see it,” the Priest grumbled.

“We're here,” the Assassin interrupted again, sounding a little impatient now. “Pay attention.”

“Where is 'here?'” Kiran asked.

“The caves underneath Glast Heim. Not a lot of people come back this far. You can make some good money here.” She turned to Zephil and barked, “Hey! You! Shut up.”

“Madam! When you speak to a Mardain, you should speak with respect—”

“You wanna die?” the Wizard snapped. “No? Then _shut up._ ”

Cyrus returned to the Knight's side, scratching Jasmine's feathered shoulder. The party's attention turned outwards as they crept along stealthily, scanning the walls for any signs of movement. As the time wore on, the Bard became more and more nervous, jumping at the tiniest sounds.

“Hey, relax,” Kiran whispered, making him jump. “You're going to do fine.” He gave her a quavery smile, his knuckles white where they gripped his bow.

The Priest, leading the way, suddenly stopped and held up a hand; "Hey, look at this." He pointed at the floor. Unlike other parts of the cave, the ground in front of them sunk sharply, claw and scorch marks plainly visible.

"Weird," the Wizard breathed, sliding down into the crater and bending down to brush her fingers against the rough-hewn stone.

"Something was digging here," the Priest said. "This is pretty deep. How long do you think they've been doing this?"

By now, the rest of the party was also looking around. Kiran pointed out the dents also scattered across the surface. "Lots of _Hammerfall_ s." Upon closer inspection, the depression was covered in a lacy cobweb of cracks. "Majoruros are around here, right?"

"The _monsters?_ " the Priest asked, incredulous. "That doesn't make sense."

"Maybe they're looking for something?" The Wizard picked up some soot on a finger and examined it. "Some of these spell signatures are really old—they've completely worn away, that takes at least a hundred years—but some are really new." She looked up, confused. "There aren't any MVPs down here, right? These look like...all sorts of stuff; _Meteor Storm_ and _Heaven's Drive_ and general elemental property attacks, too."

The Assassin added, "There are _Sonic Blow_ s over here."

"Glast Heim fell to the monsters hundreds of years ago," Cyrus commented. "Could this be some of the battle remains?"

The Priest shook his head. "I've never seen anything like this, and I've seen every part of Glast Heim there is. The amount of damage in this one small area is pretty incredible. This area would have held no strategic importance; old scrolls say that this place used to be used for secret religious ceremonies, but really, there's nothing down here but tunnels."

"Monsters would have gotten here last," Kiran commented. "Maybe this was a 'final stand?'"

"We _are_ in the direct center of the caves," the Priest said, rubbing his chin. "That might make sense."

Suddenly, there was a clattering sound, and everyone looked up. Zephil yelped and ducked as an arrow whizzed over his head.

“There!” the Assassin shouted, vanishing. A Majoruros and four Gargoyles roared and screamed as great spikes tore through the ground around them, then leaped into the pit to attack the party.

“Stay back,” Kiran ordered. “And aim carefully. Hah!” Urging her mount forward, she and Jasmine charged forward to plunge her Lance into one Gargoyle's arm. It let loose an unearthly scream, the bow clattering out of its hands, and hurled an arrow point-blank at her face.

“No!” Cyrus shouted, but Jasmine had spun, Kiran ripping the lance out of its arm with the same movement, and its arrow sliced past her cheek to leave a thin, bloody line. “Come on, I've got to do something—” He fumbled with water and earth arrows before bringing his bow to bear. The mounted Knight screamed _“Pierce!”_ as she completed her turn, and slammed her lance through the Gargoyle's chest with her backswing. Its eyes bulged, its clawed fingers scrabbling against the wooden shaft as Kiran stared it fearlessly in the eye; then a Majoruros's hammer slammed into her side. With a choked cry, the Knight was flung out of her saddle, the bull-like creature raising its weapon for a _Hammerfall._

“Oh Gods— _Double Strafe!_ ” The two water arrows struck the Majoruros in the back, and it roared, throwing its head up. As it turned to the Bard, it was thrown back with a _“Jupitel Thunder!”,_ lightning bolts dancing wildly across its hide. Cyrus was dazzled by the brilliant attack, and his next shots went wild; when he looked again, Kiran was tearing her lance from the dead Gargoyle's body. The other Gargoyles began to swarm around her, but like an avenging angel Jasmine leaped over their heads and stood over her master, screeching, kicking and whirling, keeping all of them at bay with her sharp beak and sharper talons.

 _“Heal,”_ the Priest muttered, his hands outstretched towards Kiran. She glowed with holy energy as she struggled to remount her fighting Pecopeco.

“Once more into the fray!” Zephil shouted, swinging wildly at the Majoruros's arm; it turned to him with a low growl, but before it could strike him, the Super Novice was picked up and flung backwards by an invisible force. “Hey!”

The Assassin flickered into sight for a moment; “Back us up,” she ordered, then vanished again, sending a column of spikes roaring out of the ground towards the monsters. The three remaining Gargoyles leapt aside, but the Majoruros was less lucky, pinned in place with stakes through his legs. Another _“Jupitel Thunder!”_ hurled it into the wall with a resounding crack, but it still tried to rise.

The Pecopeco's shrieks became frantic as a Gargoyle dove past her, teeth sinking into Kiran's thigh. As the Knight screamed and punched the monster with an armored fist, Cyrus cried out _“Double Strafe!”_ and his earth arrows thudded through the Gargoyle's neck.

 _“Fire Bolt!”_ came another shout.

“Oh God,” Kiran muttered, diving away from the Gargoyle as, with a grandiose wave, the Super Novice sent flames raining down upon its head, quickly burning it to a crisp. The other Gargoyles drew back from the flames, and the Knight took advantage of this by remounting her Pecopeco and pulling back towards Cyrus, her eyes scanning the battlefield. “You doing all right?” Cyrus shouted over the din of battle.

A shadow fell over the Wizard; by the time she looked up, the Majoruros was bringing its hammer down towards her unprotected head. As she cringed back, screaming, the hammer thudded hard into the ground just inches to her right, making the ground tremble. “L-Lucky,” she gasped, eyes wide.

The Assassin materialized in front of the Wizard, whispering _“Sonic Blow.”_ Her Jurs flashed madly, the monster screaming and flailing as slice after slice ripped through its armor and skin. The Gargoyles began to fire upon her, and she grunted as arrows appeared in her arms and legs, dropping to one knee before she disappeared. “Come here so I can heal you,” the Priest called to the empty air, biting his lip as his eyes flickered from one party member to the next, healing and buffing as fast as he could.

The Majoruros lunged at the Wizard, who put up a hasty _“Safety Wall!”_

The Priest had finished healing the Assassin, who cloaked again. Kiran had begun running to the Wizard's aid, but she was quite far. The sorceress glared at the monsters as they all attacked her magical barrier, lighting coiling around her palms.

“I'll teach you to fear a Mardain's wrath!” Zephil shouted. _“Fire Bolt!”_

 _“Lord of Vermilion!”_

The two attacks combined into a pillar of blinding white as they struck the monsters, then blew _threw_ them, slamming into the floor with a deafening roar that tore the ground in half and made the earth tremble underneath their feet. Cyrus fell to his knees as Jasmine shrieked, but it was only getting worse; the earth was shaking and shaking, the crack racing through the floor in every direction.

“What—what's happening?!” The Wizard screamed, struggling to keep her footing.

 ** _“Run!”_** The Priest screamed with all his strength—the Assassin reappeared behind the shell-shocked Wizard, picking her up and running pell-mell towards the end of the hallway—“Get on!” Kiran screamed, and Cyrus scrabbled furiously against her saddlebags, trying to pull himself up as the Pecopeco reared and bucked—Zephil crushed a Butterfly Wing in his hand and disappeared. There was a sickly green-gray fog hissing through the fractures in the floor, making Kiran cough as her eyes teared up.

Cyrus was gasping with terror, his sweat-slicked fingers slipping on Jasmine's saddle. “Kiran, just go!”

 _“No, damnit, I'm not leaving you!”_ She grabbed him and pulled him up with a strength that made Cyrus feel like his shoulders were being torn out of their sockets—and then the world ended. The ground shook itself apart, and Cyrus and Kiran fell screaming into the darkness, the Pecopeco flapping its wings uselessly as they plummeted through the floor. Cyrus could barely feel Kiran's fingers crushing his wrists, the two of them twisting and kicking as they tumbled forever, one minute, two minutes, three; wind rushed past his body, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, he was going to die, _we're going to die, oh God, we're going to die, please no pleasepleaseplease—_

They slammed into the floor, the Pecopeco landing next to them with a pathetic squeak, and everything went dark.

  


Then Kiran's eyes opened, the air shrieking in her throat as she gasped it into her lungs. Cyrus, beside her, was moaning like an animal, low and endless, too beaten to even move; Jasmine had awakened before her, trying to stand, screaming and screaming, refusing to give up even with both wings broken. The Knight struggled to sit up, but several of her ribs were shattered, her leg bones snapped. Her heart pounded madly in her ears, _she was alive, they were alive,_ and she tried to figure out where they were, how to get out; they seemed to be in another hallway, the air thick with a green-gray smoke that glowed faintly.

She tried to move, and for a dizzying moment her existence narrowed to nothing but pain; but she pushed through it, drawing on reserves of strength she didn't know she had. Their packs, she had to get to their packs—

Her hand fell upon the scratched leather like a miracle. She opened the saddlebag to find everything destroyed; the potion bottles were shattered, their contents pouring out everywhere, and the Butterfly Wings had disintegrated into nothing. She sobbed, nearly fainting from the pain, and dragged herself forward to lap at the mixed potions pooling on the floor, gagging on grit and slime. Minutes passed as she struggled to breathe, to drink, to breathe; then she felt the effects—a little at first, then more, the healing mixing with the adrenaline in her veins to give her just enough strength to sit up, every muscle trembling with the effort.

“Jasmine,” she called, and she didn't recognize her own voice, but her beloved Pecopeco limped towards her nonetheless. “Come on,” she coaxed, and the bird balked at first, swaying on her feet, before dropping to the floor and pushing its face into the puddle, gulping greedily. Eventually it lifted its head, beak dripping, then looked at the Knight.

“We have,” Kiran coughed, the pain in her chest bringing tears to her eyes, “We have to get out of here.”

Cyrus's wails had ceased, but his body was still shuddering with pain. She crawled over to him, her Pecopeco trailing behind. His injuries were far worse than hers had been; there was no way he was getting up. She looked at the puddle and bit her lip. There was barely any potion left.

Jasmine and her Knight, working together, managed to get the Bard onto the Pecopeco's back. Then, Kiran painfully joined him, flinging herself over the ruined saddle first before righting herself. “Stand,” she said, as if Jasmine was still in training at the Izlude Academy, and the Pecopeco managed to get shakily to her feet.

 _Right or left?_ “Right,” she called out, her voice barely a whisper. They began to move, barely faster than a shuffle, Cyrus's cries tearing at her heart every time Jasmine stumbled. _God—please—guide us,_ she begged, wishing for a cross she didn't carry, a shield she didn't bear.

\- - -

Cyrus was so overwhelmed by pain that he just couldn't process it anymore. He felt like he was floating in his head, somewhere far away from his body. The sunny glades and rolling hills of Payon seemed very distant now, separated from him by more than just distance—lifetimes and worlds apart. Maybe this was all a dream, and he was going to wake up any minute now, ready to start the day in Geffen with Kiran, and maybe visit Glast Heim, that place he'd only heard about.

Was this what dying felt like? He didn't see any tunnel with a light at the end, or hear any strains of heavenly music. All those tales wouldn't be wrong, would they?

But he couldn't die, not now. Jennie—Lidda—Tommy, whom he hadn't even met yet. He still had so much to see, so much more to do. He hadn't bought the may bells. He had learned a new folk song that he wanted to sing his darling wife, the perfect song for her, called “My Lagan Love.”

 _When Lagan stream sings lullaby, there blows a lily fair..._

\- - -

Kiran lost track of time as Jasmine limped onwards, drifting into a numb, unthinking haze. Hours later, she abruptly came back to herself when Cyrus began to mumble; after a moment, she recognized it as wordless singing, a warped melody dragged from a broken throat. _A Bard to the last...._ Her eyes welled with tears, and she poured her frustration into Jasmine, hugging the bird's neck desperately; “Come on, girl, faster, we can make it, come on.”

But suddenly Kiran had other things to worry about.

 _A twilight gleam is in her eye; the night is on her hair..._

There was the sound of an explosion from behind her, and Jasmine stopped. Kiran looked behind them, but couldn't see anything through the green-gray fog.

Then there was a rushing sound, a whispering, a clicking, growing louder by the minute.

Now there were footsteps...and there were a lot of them.

“Jasmine, run,” She said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. The Pecopeco lurched forward in double-time, her eyes round with fear.

Whatever was coming, it was bad.

 _And like a love-sick lennan-shee, she hath my heart in thrall..._

It was even louder now, a cacophony of sound—now there were shrieks, too, high peals of unearthly laughter, the roars of a thousand nightmarish creatures. Monsters were coming behind them, now she was sure of it, they had followed them down the hole into this place. They were quicker, they were stronger, and were too many of them. Jasmine was almost running now, despite her injuries, squawking softly now and again. Kiran bent low over her neck, not having the strength to do anything else.

 _No life I owe, nor liberty..._

They were right behind them now, and Kiran looked back, only to feel sickening fear surge up into her throat. There was a Dark Lord behind them now, four of them—or were some of those Dark Illusions?—whatever they were, they were floating down the hall behind them and gaining ground fast. Behind the swirling capes of the Dark Lords, she could see thousands of other monsters.

“Oh God,” Kiran sobbed. This time, it was the end. It was really the end. Cyrus was dying, there were MVPs behind them, and they were going to die in the green-gray dark deep underneath Glast Heim.

“Help me,” she whispered, burying her face in Jasmine's feathers. Her Pecopeco continued to race along as fast as she could, gaining speed as the scent of the monsters grew thick in the air. “Help me, oh God, help, I don't—I can't—please—”

 _For love...is lord of all._

There were doors ahead of them, thrown wide open and carved with runes, and beyond them, the weird light brightened. Jasmine dashed inside before skidding to a stop, screeching. The room they had come into was so huge that it felt like they were suspended in space. They were on a narrow balcony that ringed the room, saved from falling only by the flimsy railing that Jasmine slammed into. The room stretched down and up for miles, and in the center floated a crystal more gigantic than Kiran could have ever imagined. It was larger than Prontera Castle, even larger than Geffen Tower, and every inch of its surface was covered in the same runes that covered the entrance outside. It glowed a soft green-gray that pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

Jasmine regained her footing and fled from the doors just as Dark Lord burst through them. Kiran clutched at the reins, trying to keep her seat, and Cyrus's head thumped against the saddle rhythmically. Dark Lord reached out towards them, and a magical seal appeared under their feet. “No!” Kiran screamed, kicking her Pecopeco, but they couldn't escape the blast zone in time; meteors roared out of the sky around them, heating the air like fire in her lungs. One exploded right beside them, and a huge chunk of the balcony ripped away, fragments the size of boulders flying everywhere. One struck Jasmine in the head and knocked her unconscious, tripping and slamming face-first into the stone floor before flipping over, and Kiran, clutching her mount, was pinned underneath, but Cyrus—

Cyrus, his body limp, was flung from Jasmine into the air—just beyond Kiran's outstretched hands—and over the railing.

 _“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”_ Kiran screamed with every fiber of her being as Cyrus vanished from sight, plunging into the endless pit. _“NO, NO!”_ She shrieked until her throat was raw, beating her Pecopeco ruthlessly, trying to revive her, she had to save him somehow, she swore she would protect him—this couldn't—he couldn't— _“NOOO!”_

The Dark Lords were still advancing; another meteor slammed into the ground, hurling Jasmine and Kiran into the air. At the peak of their flight, the MVP whipped his hand out, striking them with brutal force. Kiran's eyes dilated with pain, just barely hanging onto the edge of consciousness as they, too, flew over the railing, out and out across the expanse—

And slammed into the Crystal to skid across the flat plane, the girl's skin tearing, her blood spilling across the glowing surface. It pooled around her as she took one last, shuddering breath.

But the crystal began to shimmer, the runes all along its surface lighting up, starting from Kiran and rippling outwards. The room was suddenly filled with an unearthly hum that made the air vibrate, and the monsters began to roar, backing against the walls as they bared their teeth.

Just before Kiran slipped away, she was flung back into her body with the most powerful surge of healing she had ever felt. Her eyes snapped open, gasping for air as her back arched; she was overwhelmed with energy, and she dissolved into it.

\- - -

 _“Don't you ever feel lonely, Sister?” she asked her companion._

 _“Acha, call me Acha!” The Acolyte smiled. “And why would I? Everyone's with me always, everywhere I go.”_

 _Kiran looked around. They were completely alone, the field stretching out forever around them. “There's nobody here besides me.”_

 _“Not just you!_ Everyone _.” She smiled dreamily, clasping her hands over her heart. “Right here. Everyone in the whole world, I feel them right here. Don't you feel it too?”_

\- - -

Kiran's bruised lips formed a single word: _Acha?_

  
“Kiran?” Archana whispered from miles away, clutching at her chest as her eyes widened. Belliace blinked, feeling weak for a moment, but it quickly passed. “Ki—?” Acha gasped before her knees buckled, falling bonelessly into Lierne's arms. As he lay her on the ground, the Crusader patted her face, trying to revive her, but the Priestess was gone.

  
Kiran and Jasmine's bodies were wreathed in light, floating slightly above the surface of the crystal as a portal opened up below them. As the girl's eyes closed, they flashed brilliantly and disappeared.

(To be continued)


End file.
